


In For a Penny

by thelittlelion



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Christmas Party, Class Issues, Hamilton Gift Exchange 2k16, M/M, Sugar Daddy, Without the daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 04:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8735692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlelion/pseuds/thelittlelion
Summary: Alex and George have been happily dating for months. Well, a couple of weeks - publicly. Which doesn't really mean anything, no matter what John says.
Except that George keeps finding excuses to buy him things and Alex abruptly starts to wonder what exactly it is that he brings to the table.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashilrak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashilrak/gifts).



> Uh, so, confession time - I don't write Daddy!kink. It's on my squick list. But I got requested to write some Sugar Daddy so here's Alex and George dealing with the inequalities of their relationship and what it means when you're a broke college kid dating a stupidly rich lawyer who just wants to buy you things.

“He sent another one?”

Alex swoops down, collecting the package on the stoop before John’s kick can land. He shoots his roommate a dark look, but John doesn’t see, unlocking their front door so they can stumble in. A rich smell greets them, buttery and warm. It can only mean Hercules was in charge of dinner.

It’s instantly cozier inside; the aftereffect of Lafayette and John getting ahold of an unholy amount of Christmas lights and tacking them around every wall. Alex’s contribution to the cause – a rough draft of one of his essays folded into an awkward star – crowns the droopy little tree Hercules had dragged home one night from the dumpster. It’s a welcome sight after several weeks of midterms, papers, and work. Alex unravels his scarf and lets his bag fall near the door, following John as he stalks his way to the kitchen.

They find both their other housemates inside. Hercules stands shirtless at the sink, elbow deep in soapy water, while Lafayette perches on the counter. He’s got the infamous _Kiss the Cook_ apron tied around his neck and not much else beneath.

John flops onto one of the stools at the counter while Alex comes around, batting Lafayette’s knees aside until he can reach the drawer beneath. He digs with one hand for their lone pair of scissors, dropping the package on the counter.

“So, date night worked then?” John asks, waving a lazy hand between the couple.

Lafayette preens, wagging a finger at them. “You’re back early. You promised us until 9.”

“It’s almost 10,” John laughs. He jerks his chin at Alex. “ _That_ one refused to leave the office. I practically had to drag him out.”

Alex stops digging in the drawer long enough to send him another look. “John’s lying. It was barely five minutes.”

“I was waiting outside for at least twenty.” John crosses his arms, leaning against the counter with a smirk. It doesn’t quite meet his eyes, which narrow in on Alex’s package. “If you wanted to give your boss head you could have just texted me, you know. I was in the middle of studying.”

“You’re the one who wanted to give me a ride,” Alex snaps. His fingers finally wrap around the scissors. He shuts the door, maybe slamming it more then he means to. “I told you I could walk.”

John rolls his eyes. “It’s snowing outside.”

“Yeah,” Alex bites out. “And?”

John looks away. Alex stares at him, not sure what exactly happened but tensing anyway. John can be an ass, but then so can Alex.

They’re very rarely assholes to each other though.

Maybe he’s just being sensitive, Alex thinks, looking down. Something in John’s tone reminds him of the stare he’d gotten from George’s secretary today, as though it were his fault that they’d been running five minutes behind schedule. _Five minutes late_ \- not twenty, like John accused. And John’s wrong. Alex had barely gotten a kiss, let alone gone down on George in that time.

It was Alex who’d set the strict rule about professionalism at work anyway – not that he _needed_ to. George is already too upstanding to do anything too risqué.

He realizes he’s still stewing when abruptly John aims a teasing smile at Lafayette, abruptly changing the subject.

“So how did your night go?” he asks.

Lafayette hums. If he picks up on the tension, he doesn’t mention it. He pouts at them both. “Well, before we were so rudely interrupted, we _were_ just about to get to the good part.” He heaves a dramatic sigh, theatrics ruined when he reaches out with his bare feet, poking his toes into Hercules’s side. “Hercules made this amazing dinner. Very fancy. I doubt either of you would have heard of it.”

He sniffs, looking very French and very proper. In the next moment, he’s squealing though, attempting to pull away as Hercules swipes a wet hand at his feet and splashing him with dishwater. Hercules abandons the sink, ignoring Lafayette’s half-hearted protests as he catches his boyfriend around the waist and makes a show of drying his hands on Lafayette’s apron.

“Ignore him,” Hercules advises, merrily. “I made pizza and we watched Netflix and ate Ben and Jerry’s. And he knows _exactly_ what time it is. What were you just saying? Five minutes is plenty of time?”

Lafayette stops squirming enough to grin. Hercules leans back against the counter, letting Lafayette drape himself over his shoulders, and nods at the package in Alex’s hands.

“Is that from Washington then?” he asks.

Alex nods, smiling. He opens the scissors, wedging them in the seam of the box. Behind him John snorts.

“Please, as if it could be anyone else.”

It’s like John is _trying_ to start a fight. “It’s not like I asked him to send it,” Alex glares. “He knows I don’t need anything. He already insisted on buying my books this semester.”

Lafayette shrugs. “Maybe he just like buying you presents?”

“Or he feels _guilty,_ ” John mutters.

Alex slams the scissors down, whirling on him. “ _What_ is your _problem_?”

John kicks his shoes against the counter. “Nothing.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

John still doesn’t look at him. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s not then.”

He shakes his head roughly, sliding off his stood and exiting the kitchen without another word. The sound of their bedroom door slamming closed comes a moment later.

Alex wants to hiss, the heat under his skin bubbling like someone just poured cold water over bright orange coals, drowning them out just as they were about to spark.

He scowls at the spot where John sat, before abruptly spinning away. “Jesus, what crawled up his ass and died? _”_

Lafayette and Hercules exchange a glance Alex can’t read which does absolutely nothing for his temper. At last, Lafayette slides off the counter, taking him by the elbow and pulling him in for a hug. The last burning coals go out, leaving Alex to sigh heavily into Lafayette’s shoulders.

“I don’t get it,” he complains, when they finally pull apart. “John and I never fight. I mean, we never fight with each other. He’s being such an _asshole_. I don’t get why he can’t just be on my side in this.”

He’s ashamed of how wobbly his voice comes out. Lafayette squeezes his elbows.

“John is just worried about you,” he promises. “He’ll come around.”

“Worried for what?” Alex says. He crosses his arms, digging his nails into his skin. “George and I have been dating for months.”

“You’ve been sleeping together for months,” Lafayette corrects dryly. Behind him, Hercules snorts. “You started dating two weeks ago.”

Alex scowls. “Okay, sure. We started _publically_ dating two weeks ago, but John’s known about us from the beginning. I told him everything. John _likes_ George.”

“John liked having George Washington for a professor,” Lafayette agrees. “He doesn’t know him like you do.”

“Yeah, well, he should trust me,” Alex growls. “And I never asked for his protection!”

Hercules laughs, catching Lafayette’s arm and pulling him back. “Oh we know,” he says. He wraps his arms around Lafayette’s middle, resting his chin on Lafayette’s broad shoulders. “So, are you going to open it or what?”

Alex looks down at the package in his hands. It’s a plain brown box, his name and address in the center with no return address – just like the other packages George has left him.

He sighs, picking up his scissors and slicing through the last of the tape. He peels back the cardboard, finding another, slimmer, box inside. This box is notably fancier then the first, glossy cream and wrapped in a green bow. There’s a label on the side that Alex doesn’t recognize, but makes Hercules take a breath in.

“What?”

Hercules shakes his head, flapping a hand at him. He peers over Lafayette’s shoulder, suddenly much more interested. “Just open it.”

Alex blinks at him, but Hercules doesn’t give him another hint. He tugs on the ribbon, piling it in the first box so he won’t lose it, and then lifting the lid.

The first thing he sees is the note. It’s written in George’s fine, practiced handwriting and simply reads: _The rest is waiting to fit you – G._ Below it sits a downtown address.

His brows knit together as he lifts the mysterious note, but the second he does he’s distracted shimmer of the gift beneath. The tie is a rich, deep green, so dark it’s nearly black. It’s slim – the way he prefers – but it’s nothing like the cheap secondhand ties that line his closet. He lifts it out and it’s real silk, not the fake stuff currently hanging around his neck. It’s soft and slippery – indulgent. The closest he’s ever come to owning one like it is the times he’s tugged such finery from around George’s own neck.

Underneath the tie he finds one last note, this one he recognizes in a heartbeat. It’s a glossy invite to their firm’s annual holiday party – the one which interns are explicitly _not_ invited to.

Alex’s breath leaves him in a single, soft, “Oh.”

Hercules snatches the tie out of his hands the second he starts to twist it.

“Do you know how much this thing is worth?” Hercules berates him, shaking his head. “If you get one _drop_ of coffee on this thing, so help me God.”

He places it back in the box, smoothing is down and reverently closing the lid.

“He bought me a suit,” Alex says dumbly, looking down at the note. “He can’t have really bought me a suit?”

Hercules’ eyebrows climb. Lafayette plucks the first note out of his fingers.

“He bought you a suit,” Lafayette confirms. “A _tailored_ suit. How lucky.”

Hercules gives a low whistle.

Alex glances down at the box. “It’s worth that much?”

Hercules pops that daydream frankly. “The tie by itself is worth half our rent.”

“A _tie?”_

Alex nearly drops the box. Hercules looks ready to strangle him for it. Alex lifts the lid again, peeking down at the tie. It’s gorgeous – he thinks he could spend an hour just watching the way the light hits it.

But it can’t possibly be worth that much. Who on earth would spend that much money on a _tie?_

“That man is gone on you,” Hercules concludes. He sounds cheerful. Elated even. Alex barely hears him.

Half of their rent? They live in _New York City!_

Lafayette seems to understand how much information Alex is _not_ processing.

“I believe we still have ice cream,” Lafayette declares suddenly. He plucks the box from Alex’s hands, setting it on the counter, before grinning at them both. “What say you two to finishing it?”

He untangles himself from Hercules and hops to the freezer. In little order, they’re piling onto the couch, Alex somehow wrangled between them. His present is left in the kitchen. The box and the very-expensive-absolutely-do-not-stain tie sitting on the counter.

Alex remains twisted around the silky fabric even as his friends put on a movie. Even when John comes out of his room halfway through to scarf down their popcorn and lay out on the floor, bygones apparently bygones.

Had Alex told George he’d wanted a tie like that? He hadn’t. He was sure he hadn’t. He wouldn’t.

But maybe he did. He’d always tried to dress well – as much as he could on his limited budget. Perhaps George had simply picked up on it? But why would George _do_ something like this? It wasn’t like Alex _needed_ the tie. And he certainly didn’t need George to think he was trying to wheedle out expensive presents.

He didn’t want George to think he was just dating him for his money. He wasn’t.

At least, he didn’t think he was.

He was nearly certain.

 

*

 

The tie and the idea haunt him.

He waves goodbye to each of his friends as they finish their finals and pack up for the holidays. Normally, Hercules would stay with him – working his job at the tailor shop and earning holiday wages. This year, however, Alex hugs him and Lafayette goodbye at the airport, making sure they both swear to bring him back something stupidly cheesy from France.

“Have a good vacation, Alex,” Hercules says, when he’s through squeezing the life out of Alex. He sets him down, before serving him a shrewd look. “Make sure you take a break.”

“And make sure you do not spend the _entire_ time with your George, no?” Lafayette chips in. “We still want you living with us when we get back.”

Alex laughs, watching them make their way to the line, before driving Hercules’ car back home.

It’s quiet when he gets there. John’s at his last final, his suitcase open on his bed and half-packed when Alex enters their room. Alex plops down at his desk, toying with a few essays but lacking the familiar thrum of pressure that’s been pushing him through the semester.

When he turns around, he sees the tie box still sitting on his bed. It reminds him.

Several hours later he stands back in his bedroom, admiring himself in the mirror, when the front door creaks open. Alex glances down at himself, wondering if he has time to peel off the long lines the tailor had just impressed upon him, before giving up. There’s nothing for it now.

“Alex?” calls John. “Alex, where are – oh.”

He’s opened the door. Alex cringes, turning to face the music slowly.

“Oh, wow. That’s, uh.”

John’s face is doing something funny, mouth hanging open and eyes-wide even under the lack of sleep. Alex fiddles with his sleeves, glancing down at himself again. He spread his arms, squaring himself to look up.

“I just got it fitted,” he admits. “What do you think?”

He almost wants to do was stupid little twirl. He’s half expecting John to sneer. John doesn’t, dropping his backpack on his bed and stepping in. He circles around Alex, eyes catching on things Alex can’t see.

“I honestly didn’t think he’d spring for this much,” John finally concludes, coming around front again.

Alex drops his arms, fingers twitching. “Is it bad?”

John shakes his head adamantly. Alex frowns.

“Your face says it’s bad.”

John solves this by turning his face away, unpacking his bag on his bed. “The suit fits.”

“But?”

John shakes his head. Alex can see him biting his lip.

“But?” he prompts again.

At last, John’s hands stop moving. He meets Alex’s gaze before his eyes travel back up and down his body.

“I’m just not sure if the suit fits _you,_ ” he says. “What’s it trying to prove?”

“What am I?”

John shakes his head, turning back to his hands. “Nothing. Forget it.”

“John.”

“Really, Alex. You look great.”

And that’s all Alex gets out of him for the rest of the night. Alex sheds himself of the suit quickly afterwards, hanging it carefully in his closet, and they celebrate the end of the semester by getting shit-faced on the couch and watching bad holiday movies.

In the morning, Alex walks John to the train station and the hug they exchange doesn’t even seem that awkward.

“I’ll miss you,” Alex says.

“Be careful,” says John.

It’s only after the train pulls out of the station that he realizes how odd that was.

 

*

 

Three days later, Alex stands in George’s apartment desperately trying to fix his hair. He ties it up, glancing in the mirror, only to see several curly wisps sticking up. With a snarl, he yanks out his tie, shaking out his hair, wondering if maybe he can’t wearing it down after all.

George calls out to him from the bedroom.

“Alex? Are you nearly done?”

“Almost!”

He gathers up his hair again, but he can already see that it’s not going to lie flat. He glances down at himself, down at the perfectly tailored suit and half-a-rent’s tie, and tries not to panic.

“Alex?”

There’s a knocking at the doorway.

“One more minute! I’m almost done.”

“Are you alright in there?”

“I’m – ”

He’s what?

He doesn’t have time to answer before George pushes open the door, the sight of him stealing all the words out of Alex’s mouth. Yes, it’s true. George Washington dresses well everyday. But George Washington in a _tailored suit?_

Alex wants to curl his fingers into the lapels, marveling at George’s ability to press his considerable shoulders into the fitted material. He stands like a soldier, straight backed and serious, like he might snap his feet together and start barking orders at any second.

George, meanwhile, looks at Alex and his two strong brows pull together. Alex wants to slide into his shoes.

“Hair troubles?” George asks.

Alex scowls, turning his gaze to the mirror. “Don’t you start. You have _no_ idea what having this much hair is like.”

“I clearly haven’t shown you enough pictures of me as an undergrad then,” George smiles. He fully enters the bathroom, reaching over Alex’s shoulders for the medicine cabinet, pulling out a bottle. “Come on. Let me fix it.”

Alex stills when George touches his shoulders.

“Why do you even have that?” he mutters, but he drops his hair irritably, crossing his arms. If George wants to prove himself the master, Alex will let him.

George just hums, immune to his bad mood. He spreads a quarter of the gel in his palms, then, gather’s Alex’s hair in his hands, slicking back those irritable wisps. George finishes his style by squeezing Alex’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine.

“There you are,” George announces. “Perfect.”

Alex looks at himself in the mirror. George is half-right at least. There’s one perfect man standing there.

Alex’s suit is lovely though and so fine he almost doesn’t recognize himself. He looks older, richer, but younger all at once. Powerful in a way he’s always wanted to be. He wishes he could take a picture and send it back home – well, not home, but to all the places that stood between him and this place. He’d plaster it on every door that had ever dared closed in his face.

Look at what he’s made of himself _now_.

George leans in, pressing his lips against Alex’s jaw. “I knew that color would suit you.”

Alex drops his eyes from the mirror, turning around until he can wrap his arms around George’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss. He must have brushed his teeth recently. Alex can taste the peppermint on his tongue. He doesn’t nearly get his fill before George pulls back.

“Come on,” he says, pulling them out of the bathroom. “We’re going to be late.”

Alex let’s himself be pulled into the living room, but can’t help but hesitate as George dons his coat.

“Suppose we don’t go,” he finally says.

George laughs, smoothing down his coat. He takes down his scarf, wrapping it around his throat. It’s not the lumpy one Alex had given him at the turn of the season, when George had wandered into office red-nosed and looking every inch the frazzles law professor he sometimes was. This scarf is a made of some light, shimmering purple. Alex wonders how much of his rent _that_ one cost.

It’s only when Alex doesn’t move that George stills, looking over at him.

“You’ve been begging for more time at senior functions for weeks,” George says. His brows have pulled together again. He really shouldn’t do that. He’s already beginning to get lines.

Alex steps forward, winding his hand into George’s coat, tugging on him.

“I can think of at least fifteen different things I’d rather be doing instead of chatting up a crowd of boring old men.”

George arches an eyebrow. “I’m a boring old man,” he points out.

“You’re hardly boring,” Alex chides, clicking his tongue. “And you’re the center point of fourteen of those other things.”

George’s lips quirk. “And the last?”

“Oh, I have a few ideas for a draft I’d like to go over. Don’t worry. You’re there too. You know I like it when you rub my back while I’m working.”

Alex can feel George’s smile as they kiss. He hooks his hands around George’s neck, basking against George’s broad chest, content for one moment.

Again, it doesn’t last nearly as long as he’d like it. George pulls back, smiling. “As nice as that sounds, we really are going to be late. Lee’s already on my case for missing that meeting last week. Best not rile the beasts.”

Last week, when Alex had missed his bus and called George for a ride to his midterm. He hadn’t even known George had had a meeting, let along with that bastard Lee.

George must catch something on his expression because he pauses. “You know I didn’t mind, right?” George says and Alex nods. He _does_ know that. George had taken him for midnight pancakes that night and rubbed all the kinks out of his shoulders. They’d stayed up watching silly movies that George loved and Alex pretended to pay attention to, resting his head against George’s chest and waiting for his laughter, like a kid pressing their face against the windowpane to feel the roll of thunder.

Stupid John, making Alex doubt himself.

“I know,” he says.

George stares at him doubtfully. “Are you sure everything’s alright?”

Alex shakes his head, landing another kiss on George’s jaw. “I just don’t want to share you, that’s all.”

“A few hours,” George promises. “Then you’ll have me all to yourself.”

There really isn’t much to say to that. Alex dons his coat, straightening his shoulders and trying not to feel small as George places a hand on the small of his back and gently escorts him out.

 

*

 

The firm’s holiday party is located in one of the swanky hotels that Alex couldn’t afford so much of an hour’s stay in. The sheer amount of money on display is staggering. Massive Christmas trees decorated with elaborate gold and white ornaments line the lobby, only rivaled by the absolutely monstrous chandelier swaying overhead.

Alex’s new shoes seem to echo far too loud on the polished white marble. He knows they’re not the reason for the stares they attract as they enter, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to step lighter as they cross into the ballroom proper.

George is not the most important person at the party, but he’s very close. The tide of people swells around them, eyes flashing in their direction like the rising crest of a wave threatening to break upon their heads.

Alex is only too thankful when George takes his arm, steering them away from the center of that whirlpool. They make it too the other side of the room unmolested, where a few couples are swaying half-heartedly to a live string quartet. It’s not music that Alex likes, but he appreciates it now, able to pretend to be listening intently as he desperately tries not to fidget with his sleeves.

“If I remember right, the bar’s open,” George says, bending low to speak in his ear. There’s no need - the music isn’t so loud yet - but Alex is grateful for the intimacy.

“Maybe later,” Alex says. He’d love a drink, if only for his nerves, but he’s by far the youngest person in the room – and he _knows_ it. He can’t imagine getting carded at a place like this. He’d never live it down.

Again, he wonders if he can’t just take George by the hand and lead him right back out the hotel doors.

Instead, George squeezes his elbow. “Ready?”

“Is there a dating equivalent to ‘single and ready to mingle?’” Alex quips. “Because I’m there.” The way George laughs helps to settle the nausea rising in his stomach.

George keeps his hand on the small of his back as he leads the back into the crowd. Like a switch has been flipped, the mass of people seems to bend toward them. There’s no dipping his toes in the shallow end. Instantly, Alex finds himself up to his neck in interested parties, having to battle his way through a barrage of hands that come flying in his direction.

It’s mostly old white men in suits with younger women in sharp, glittering dresses on their arms. George and he stand out for a number of reasons – not least the color of their skin and the fact that they’re both men. Not to say that they are the only same-sex couple at the party, but the other’s Alex spots are far and few between.

It bothers Alex that he finds himself concerned more with the flashing smiles of the dates, than the numerous lawyers and senators and business tycoons that come up and shake his

Alex knows the importance of networking. Of course he does. Any other time, he’d be thrilled to have this moment to make his mark. Now though he can’t seem to escape the stigma of being on George Washington’s arm.

And how would he introduce himself, anyway? Alexander Hamilton - the intern? The grad student? He hasn’t even passed the bar yet. By all rights, he shouldn’t be here.

So he smiles and stays quiet, trying not to linger on the stares that seem to know exactly how far out of his league he is. George is more than adept at making his way through this party alone, anyway. It seems as though he knows every face – or maybe every face knows him.

Once, when they’d first started sleeping together, George had admitted that part of his attraction for Alex had been how _far_ outside these parties he existed. He’d meant it kindly, of course - a compliment on Alex’s straightforwardness in contrast to the simpering of these elites. But Alex feels that distance now.

He snags a flute of champagne as the first hour passes, the time lost in a blur of faces and names he should remember but doesn’t. His eyes catch on the server instead, who looks so familiar Alex concludes they must have had a class together - because of course the people Alex would relate to best would be the wait staff rather than the guests.

Regardless, the server gives him a closed lip smile when she meet eyes, before disappearing back into the crowd. Alex is sad to see her go, though he can’t even remember her name.

He grips the stem of the glass and forces himself to turn back to the couple George is charming.

He downs the champagne probably too quickly, but it makes it easier to stand there and smile – even when Charles Lee finally spots them, shuffling his way through the crowd with a simpering smile like he hasn’t been stalking their steps all night.

“George! There you are.”

Alex doesn’t know how George summons the polite smile he graces Charles Lee with. For his own part, Alex grips his empty champagne flute and tries not to bare his teeth.

“Charles.” George shakes Lee’s offered hand firmly. “Happy Holidays.”

Lee grunts and mutters something about ‘PC nonsense’ that Alex tunes out. Lee is one of Alex’s least favorite people in the firm and of course one of the one’s he spends the most time with. George rarely deals with the interns himself (something Alex is grateful for most days, when they’re on the clock), but Lee’s far enough down the ladder to solicit their services regularly, seeming to think they’d have no problem dropping whatever assigned work they’d had to fetch coffee or make copies.

The day they’d made their relationship public, Lee had looked as though he’d just swallowed a whole lemon.

He’s been riding Alex’s ass ever since.

Alex tunes back in when George’s fingers curl into his back. “You know Alexander, of course,” George says and Alex blinks, refocusing.

“Sir,” he says, as neutral as he’s able.

Lee eyes him for a moment. “Yes,” he sniffs. He doesn’t offer his hand.

George’s fingers dig into his back. Alex glances up, catching George’s eye. He’s not sure what he’s looking for, but whatever it is he doesn’t find it. George falls back into conversation with Lee after only a small pause, drawn in by a discussion of speculated spring cases.

Alex has a lot of thoughts on such a thing. He’s shared many of them with George already. He keeps quiet, letting his gaze wonder around the room, wondering if that server knew a good place to smoke.

His eyes find the bar on the side of the room instead. He hears George laugh at some joke Alex hadn’t listened too and feels his resolve crumble.

“I’m going to get a drink,” he announces.

Lee glares at him. Apparently he’d interrupted him. George just looks at him.

“Alright,” he says. “Should I come with you?”

It’s just acknowledgement. George is not trying to give him permission. Alex _knows_ this, but it doesn’t stop him from gritting his teeth. He shakes his head, stepping away from George’s reassuring warmth before he can change his mind.

As he’s walking away, he hears Lee start up behind him – not even caring to lower his voice so Alex wouldn’t here – making him slow his pace just enough to listen.

“I’m surprised at you, George, to go for one so young. You know how it goes. They have the attention span of a rat.”

Alex strains his ears, pausing in his retreat just long enough to catch George’s response.

“You were saying about the Prevost merger?”

That’s it. That’s all George says.

Alex walks away faster, ducking his head and ignoring the people pressing in around him. The band has picked up – or maybe people have just gotten drunker. He has to push through several swaying bodies to reach the long bar against the wall.

He breathes out a sigh when his hands finally touch down.

It’s not a sitting bar, but there’s counter space to lean against near one end. He claims it, flagging down the bartender and throwing back the shot he places in front of him. The burn chases down his throat, spreading a tingling sparks into his limbs, replacing the numbness that had begun to come, crawling in.

“Oh, thank God.”

The voice startles him. He turns, lowing his glass to find a woman in a stunning yellow dress smirking openly at him. “I’ve been looking for someone having an even shittier night than me,” she tells him, before looking past him to the bartender and raising two fingers. “We’ll take two more.”

She’s the first friendly face Alex has seen tonight.

Alex takes the second shot when the bartender pours it and the woman taps their glasses together. They drink.

 

*

 

The woman turns out to be Angelica Schuyler, the eldest daughter of _the_ George Schuyler, the incumbent senator from upstate.

“I’ve been coming to these things since I was four,” she tells him, “and yes they’ve always been this dull.”

She announces this with the shrug of someone who’s never had to claw their way into high society. He forgives her for it though. Only a few years older than Alex, Angelica had been looking for someone to ward off potential suitors once her intended date chose kissing ass over keeping her company.

With the brutal, piercing wit she wields, Alexander figures her date really was an idiot.

“See that one,” Angelica whispers. Both of their backs lean against the bar, each holding a drink as Angelica takes her time filling him in on all the gossip. “She’s had an affair with her nanny. Her husband knows, but _he’s_ having an affair with one of her best friends. A friend who is also married, mind you.”

Alex cackles, watching the woman in question stand a good foot apart from the portly man she’s apparently with.

The laughter bubbles out of him like the hiss of champagne bottle, relieving an inch of the pressure building up inside. They’d been playing this game for a while now and it’s put him at ease. The music drifts across the room to him, letting him sway gently.

Or maybe that’s just the alcohol in him. He’s glad for the bar to lean against. Gladder still for the way Angelica doesn’t judge him when he turns around and orders another drink.

That is, until she elbows in the ribs, jostling his drink.

“Head’s yep. Your boss is coming.”

His boss?

She means George, he realizes, turning back around. Alex had mentioned he’d come with George, hadn’t he? She must have assumed they’d worked together – apparently their relationship being the one slice of gossip she hasn’t picked up on.

It doesn’t take him long to spot George’s broad shoulders parting the crowd, his stormy brow towering over most of the other party guests. The drink in Alex’s stomach sloshes unpleasantly. He ignores it, leaning back against the bat even as George sees him, something in his expression growing cloudy.

Beside him, Angelica shifts.

“You might want to put that down, Alex,” she says. She’s talking about his drink. He ignores her.

“Why should I?” Alex takes a pointed sip, before gesturing across the room. He singles out a couple at random. “What about them?” he asks. Why should they stop playing the game? He’d been having fun. She’d been having fun too, he’d thought.

Angelica doesn’t say anything though; stepping subtly away as George crosses the last distance between them.

“Alex! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

George crowds into his space easily. It’s astounding what his bulk can do, blocking out the sights of the crowd like a wall. Even the music seems dimmer, drowned out by the rushing noise in Alex’s ears.

He watches as George’s eyes eyes scan down his figure. His suit is still perfect, he’s certain. Angelica had complimented him on it twice already. But he knows his face is flushed.

Alex refuses to feel shame. He straightens his spine, keeping his eyes adverted to the dance floor.

“I’ve been here,” he says.

“You disappeared.” It’s not an accusation, but George’s voice resounds with confusion – and George doesn’t do well with being confused. “I thought you were just getting a drink,” he frowns.

And yet Alex is well into his third (fourth?) drink and only now has George come to look for him.

“So I did,” Alex agrees. He lifts his drink, watching the ice cubes rattle inside. “I got distracted.”

He pulls his arm away when George brushes his elbow, sipping from his glass and watching George’s brows knit together.

“Have you met Angelica, yet?” Alex continues on. “She’s a Schuyler. She was just telling me the most incredible stories. You wouldn’t believe how many sad fucks are more messed up than us.”

“I see.” George’s voice is clipped. Alex has made him angry – fantastic. Alex could do with a good fight.

Angelica shoots him a venomous look. She somehow offers her hand to George without betraying a single hint of the alcohol they’d consumed together, smiling gracefully.

“Mr. Washington,” she greets. “My father speaks highly of you.”

“Ms. Schuyler,” George nods, politely. His face is wiped clean of his anger – the only lines on his face the ones put there by age. “I understand you recently graduated from Princeton. My congratulations.”

A more sincere smile passes on her face. “Thank you.” She sets down her drink, burying a stabbing glance at Alex before collecting her purse. “If you’ll excuse me. I should find my sisters.”

There’s that bridge burnt. Alex wants to follow her, but she disappears too quickly. George takes her place beside him at the bar, bending in close to speak into his ear.

“Alexander, are you sure you’re alright? You’re acting off.”

“I’m fine,” Alex grunts. He finishes his drink, ice clinking as he sets the glass down. The bartender – his name is Tom, Alex has learned – puts another one down without missing a beat.

“I think you’ve had enough,” George says, reaching for his drink.

Alex twists away. “You’re missing the party,” he says.

George frowns at him. “I was going to say the same for you.”

He snorts. “Not my party.”

This drink goes down bitter, his taste buds already burned and protesting. He doesn’t even want it, he thinks. He just wants to be left alone. Or to leave. Leaving sounds like the best idea in the world right now.

This time when he straightens up George grabs his arm and doesn’t let go. “Are you sure you’re alright, my boy? You don’t look – ”

“I’m not your son!” Alex snaps. He jerks his arm away, drink sloshing onto his hand and trickling onto his sleeve. “Shit!” he hisses. Hercules will kill him.

He sets the drink down, fumbling for the napkin dispenser and patting down the wet spots. George is still behind him. He pulls away the drink, putting it down behind the bar and helping to sop up the spilt liquor. It’s such a ridiculous sight Alex has to turn away.

Jesus fuck, he’s such a mess. It’s a fucking wonder George sees anything in him at all.

“Alexander.”

Had he said all that aloud? Shit fuck.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Alex mutters, tossing the soiled napkins down.

He doesn’t make it a step before George falls in line behind him. “I’ll come with you.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need your help,” Alex snaps.

He increases his speed, not being gentle as he elbows his way through the crowd. He hears someone call George’s name and that’s perfect. It buys him enough time to make it to the grand double doors, slipping through the opening as a group of servers pushes in.

He shoves his wet sleeve in his pocket and chooses a direction. White marble paves every direction he looks, but he knows which way the lobby is and turns his heels to it. He didn’t even bring his wallet. He hadn’t _thought_ to. Of course, George would cover their cab getting home. Jesus.

Again, he hears his footsteps sound loudly on the floor, but he doesn’t mind that so much as he minds the second pair coming fast behind.

“Alexander!”

Alex rolls his eyes, coming to a stop as George finally catches up to him. It’s the nature of George’s face to be thunderous, but Alex doesn’t care to be scolded like a naughty child.

George steps around him, peering down at his face. He has to bend over to do it, which would be funny if Alex weren’t so pissed. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” Alex grunts. “I’m just tired.”

George clearly doesn’t believe him. “Storming out of a party is a bit more than being ‘just tired.’”

Alex doesn’t look at him, saying nothing. George’s shoulders roll as he lets out a heavy breath.

“Have I done something?”

His careful tone sets Alex’s teeth on edge.

“How could you?” Alex bites out. “You’ve given me everything I could ever want.”

He risks glancing at George’s face, but his words don’t have the effect he wanted. George’s eyes are wounded, the line of his mouth soft. He doesn’t look angry at all. He looks _hurt_. Disappointed. Like Alex is back in his Intro to US Policy seminar and has come crawling into his office for an extension.

“Has something happened?” George asks, leaning in. “Are you alright?”

“Could you just stop? For one second? God!”

Alex spins away. He takes several angry steps down the hall, crossing his arms across his chest. George reaches out to comfort him.

“George, please!”

He swerves away. George slowly reels his hand back in, staring at him earnestly. “I’m worried about you,” he says. “Can I get you something? Anything? An aspirin?”

Ugly laughter bubbles up in Alex’s throat. “Oh, please don’t.”

A moment of silence falls between them, cut off only as servers pass into the ballroom, smatterings of laughter and music drifting out like screen shots when the doors briefly open.

Alex sighs. “Come on,” he says and he starts walking. He’s tired of this party. He wants to go home.

He thinks of the little tree in his empty apartment. He could do with seeing it right about now. All the decorations put up by his friends seem dwarfed under the splendor of the hotel. The hotel pushes down on him, peeling away at him like it can sense the imposter hiding below.

Or he could go to George’s, he thinks. He’s always loved it there. It’s quiet and orderly and clean and he has a drawer there full of his casual clothes and three work suits hanging in the closet.

Three suits that probably worth the price of his left shoe in his current outfit.

They walk for some ways down the hall. Alex somehow winds up tailing after George, half-a-step behind as usual. George seems to know the layout. Of course he does. George leads them far down the hall, at last pausing at a door near the back, pushing it open to reveal a long, narrow room folded around an equally long table, floor to ceiling windows stretching out along one wall.

“We’ve had meetings here before,” he says, holding open the door. Alex steps past him.

“With Lee?”

He crosses the room, pushing his hands into his pockets and he staring out at the city skyline below. He’s rarely seen a sight like this – the whole of New York laid out in golden lights beneath them. That last time, John and Lafayette had dragged him to the top of the Empire State Building and they’d joked about dropping pennies. He should cherish it, but looking down only makes him realize how far away from everything he is.

George steps around him, this time not trying to touch. “Is this what this is about?” he says, after a moment. “Are you that bothered by what he said?”

“Aren’t you?” Alex demands, swinging his head around. George looks thrown by the venom in his voice. Alex snorts. “I thought not.”

He goes back to looking at the city below.

After a moment, George shakes his head. “You don’t need me to fight your battles for you.”

“Did you even think to though?” Alex demands. He laughs when George says nothing. “I don’t need you to protect me but Jesus would it kill you to even imagine it?”

“You were upset before this,” George points out, irritatingly rational. “At the house.”

“It was nothing.”

“Before, inside, you denied being my son.”

Alex abruptly colors, scowling. He turns away, but not before he catches George’s thoughtful frown.

“When have I ever called you my son?”

“Forget it. A slip of the tongue.”

“Is that something that you like?” George asks. He sounds so awkward. Alex has to look at him, seeing the uncomfortable tilt in his shoulders – unnatural against the long lines of his body. He hesitates, before raising his eyes to meet Alex like he’s preparing to wave the red flag. “Do you want me to be your – ”

“No!”

Alex stumbles back. “God no!” he nearly shouts. Anything but that.

Relief floods George’s expression, soothing the canyons dug around his eyes. He clears his throat. “Good. That’s – that’s good. Ah – ”

“I don’t have a daddy kink,” Alex says, firmly. He gets a hold of himself, straightening - _glaring_ – half in embarrassment and half in outrage. “I have a father.”

“Of course. Of course you do,” George says, too quickly. He clears his throat again.

Alex’s eyes narrow. “I do. I don’t know what rumors you’ve heard but – ”

George cuts him off, nodding eagerly. “I believe you.”

There’s a distinctively awkward slant to his shoulders. He’s clasped his hands behind his back, standing like Alex is the drill sergeant about to take him apart. Then, he squints at Alex again.

“And you’re _sure_ that’s not something you – ”

“George, no!”

Alex stares at him, aghast. The tension in George’s shoulders doesn’t abate by an inch.

“I’m a great deal older than you,” George says, softer this time.

Alex blinks at him. “I know, George. Of course I know.”

“I only mean that I would understand if that were something – if you saw me as something of a father figure.”

Alex tastes bile. He curls in on himself, wishing the great windows would open so he could feel the wind on his face. He cheeks are burning.

“I don’t.”

“Well,” George says and leaves it there.

An uncomfortable silence falls between them. Alex can’t make himself look over to see whatever expression George is wearing. He stares down at this floor, noting the shoes that don’t belong to him. The long line of black pants he shouldn’t own. The shimmering tie around his throat.

John’s words echo in his head. _Maybe he feels guilty._

He suddenly can’t take not knowing any more. He spins around, startling George from whatever revere he’d been in. Alex crosses the feet between them, spreading his arms.

“George, why did you buy me this suit?”

George stares at him like it’s a trick question. “I invited you to the party,” he says. “I knew you’d need something to wear.”

“And that’s all?”

“What?”

“You only wanted me to go the party?” Alex demands. “Nothing else?”

“I wanted you to have a nice time,” George says, before shaking his head. “I thought you’d like it. You always talk about meeting more people in the field.”

And that’s true. “As a lawyer, yes,” Alex concedes. “As Alexander Hamilton. Not as George Washington’s hot, young piece of ass.”

Now, George _really_ stares at him. A shadow vanishes in his eyes, comprehension dawning.

“Lee _did_ get to you.” He frowns again, though the expression is lighter this time. A familiar frown that Alex recognizes from the office. “You shouldn’t let him in your head.”

As if he could simply turn it off.

“It’s not just him,” Alex admits, after several long seconds. He’s been thickening his skin for years but that it’s never made him deaf. “It’s people. I know you hear them talk.”

George nods, honest. Alex hesitates, the forthcoming words thick on his tongue.

“You know what they think of me,” he says, slowly. Not like his usual tirade of words at all. “They think I’m using you to be my sugar daddy.”

“I thought we both just agreed we don’t want that.”

Alex shrugs, turning away. George takes his arm.

“Alexander, look at me.” Reluctantly, Alex did. George’s face was warm and serious. “Do you honestly think I’m with you only for sex? Surely, you know there’s more to it than that?”

“You buy me all these things,” Alex accuses. “What am I supposed to think?”

“Alexander, you’re half my age,” George says, flatly. “Of course I buy you things. You need them.”

“Because I’m immature.”

“Because you’re young,” George snaps.

Alex draws back, a something heavy wrapping around his heart and sinking low into his stomach. “So you have thought about it.”

George frowns. “Of course I have. It’s not what I anticipated. You think I wanted to fall for someone half my age?”

Alex scowls. “Well, you didn’t have a problem with it, did you? You never complained when I was on my back.”

If George were the sort to do so, he’d be rolling his eyes. Instead he settles on serving Alex the driest of tones – one that immediately declares how obvious he thinks the answer is.

“Age will always be a problem.”

“Admit it,” Alex hisses, standing on his toes. He pushes himself into George’s face, half-tempted to just take his tie and tug. “You think I’m immature.”

His accusation bounces off of George. “You _are_ immature,” he sighs. “You’re twenty-four, you’re mean to be. And I’m a boring old man. I’m in my forties – it’s how I’m meant to be. That doesn’t mean we don’t work.”

Alex drops to his heels, struck. “Why even keep me around? I’m a drain on your resources. I’m the one who wanted to take our relationship public. I’m the one costing you money.”

George frowns again. “We decided to become public. We talked about this.”

“I know,” Alex agrees.

“It’s too late to turn back now.”

“Would you want to?” Alex can help but to ask.

“It’s complicated,” George admits. “But I don’t regret being able to do this.”

He wraps his arms around Alex’s middle, kissing his neck. Alex pulls away.

“Alex?”

Alex shakes his head, wrapping his arms around himself. He turns to the window, staring down at the city below. “I’m sorry. You’re being wonderful, George. You are.”

“But?” George prompts.

Alex sighs. “But I can’t help but feel as though I’m stealing from you,” he admits. He glances at George’s reflection in the window, seeing it painted in the golden lights of the streets. “Or bargaining. You give me all these things and I – what? Sleep with you? Lie in your bed? I don’t even cook you breakfast.”

He watches the man in the window smile. “You’re a terrible cook, Alex.”

“I’m being serious, George.”

George shakes his head. He turns his back to the window, resting on it, making himself a much more diverting sight than the city below. “Do you remember how we met?”

Alex blinks at him, thrown by the non sequitur.

“You sat in the front row of my Intro in Law class,” George continues casually. “You started a fight with Burr _and_ Jefferson. I wanted to strangle you by the end of the first day.”

Alex _does_ remember. “You gave me an A.”

George shrugs. “You impressed me with your arguments – as loud as they were. And I said you were in the right career.”

Alex sighs, remembering the rest. “You gave me my internship. I didn’t even earn it.”

“You _applied_ and were _granted_ your internship like every one else,” George corrects. “I didn’t even know you’d been hired until I saw you bring coffee to one of the meetings a few weeks on.”

“A student and an intern. That’s what I am to you then.”

“A _brilliant_ student and an _ambitious_ intern. That’s how I met you. Not some man in a bar to pick up. Not to impress any one.” George pauses, staring down at Alex with a fond little smile. “You attracted me with your mind long before I fell for the rest of you.”

Alex wants to feel warm and tingly inside, but he doesn’t. He’s still stuck – thoughts pulling on the enormous distance between them. He knows if he tugs hard enough, the entire thing will unravel but he can’t seem to stop himself from worrying the string in his teeth.

“But I’m not like you,” he says. He forgets the pretense of looking out the window, facing George directly. “I don’t have your wealth or your status. I’m a brat. What could I offer you? Maybe I have just been using you for your connections.”

“No,” George says, like it’s simple.

Alex shakes his head. George isn’t listening. “Maybe not on purpose, but – let’s be honest. You do far more for me than I do for you.”

“Do you remember what you told me at the end of our class together?” George cuts in, tone mild. “What your plans for the future were?”

It wasn’t that long ago, truth be told. “I said I wanted to open a law practice,” Alex answers, frowning. “What does that have to do with – ”

“Yes,” George continues, swiftly. “You said you wanted to open one – with Burr or Madison, mind you.”

There’s a beat. George stares at him expectantly.

“And?” Alex demands.

“What are you planning on doing after your graduate,” George asks.

“Open the practice?” Alex answers, confused as to why George is making him repeat himself. “I’m not certain about Madison any more,” he admits, “he’s shacked up too much with Jefferson, but I think Burr and I could work well together. I’m certain he almost doesn’t want to murder me any more and we’ve done enough projects together at this point I almost think he’s used to me.”

“See. There you have it. You didn’t even think to ask me.”

“To ask you?”

“For a job. For my connections or money. Alex, I’ve always known you wanted to strike out on your own – to be your own man. I’m sorry if I ever gave you any sign that I didn’t believe you could absolutely do it.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Do you understand now? I buy you things because I have money and I can. Because it makes me happy to see you happy. I’ll stop buying you all the books in the world. I’ll never give you so much as a toothpick again. But know that even without my help you’d be just fine without me.”

“George?”

“Yes.”

“I fucked everything up tonight, didn’t I?”

“Come here.”

For the second time that night, Alex finds himself wrapped in George’s arms, back pressed against the other man’s chest. He relaxes into it this time, startled when the hot breath on his neck turns into the press of warm lips against his skin. George nips at his neck and the move is so unexpected Alex yelps, nearly pulling away.

He turns his head, maneuvering in George’s grip until they stand face to face.

“What was that?” he asks.

George smiles. “What?”

“That,” Alex repeats. “This. _Here_.”

Here as in at this hotel, in this room that certainly isn’t locked that any one with half a mind could find them in if they wanted.

George’s smile says that he understands all of this and doesn’t give one shit.

“You think I care what people think about us,” George says. He tugs on Alex’s back, drawing them closer together. Alex has to crane his head back to see his face, but George makes it easier on him, dipping down and dragging his lips across Alex’s jaw. “You’re worried that I’m just trying to play your sugar daddy. And there’s only one thing I can think of to convince you am most certainly am not.”

With that, he swoops down and attaches his teeth to the smooth veins of Alex’s jugular. Alex’s fingers dig into George’s shoulders, eyes flying to the door.

“George! Here?”

“The doors are closed.”

“Someone could walk in.”

“Then we’d be going _really_ public, wouldn’t we?”

He pushes back against Alex’s chest, walking him backwards until his back hits the table. George’s hands scoop his ass up easily, depositing him on the smooth wood, and then Alex has just a moment to realize what is happening before George settles down onto his knees.

Oh.

Oh shit.

George looks up at him from his new spot between Alex’s legs, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

“You can, of course, decide you’d rather _not_ have me suck you off at the moment.”

“Oh my god!”

Alex hooks his ankles around George’s back, yanking him forward. George goes only too willingly, nose bumping into the growing hardness in Alex’s pants.

The sight is almost too much for Alex. Not that George has ever been stingy about giving head before, but Alex fully admits it’s more of his station. He _likes_ it. It fits into their natural dynamic.

Seeing George kneeling between his legs, staring up at him, Alex is seriously reevaluating his life choices.

For several long seconds they remain still like that. Alex thinks first that George is building the anticipation or something, but it’s only when George shifts, pressing his hands flat against his knees and staring up at him that Alex gets it.

George is _waiting_ for him.

“Really?” Alex asks. This is so outside of their norm it’s ridiculous.

George just raises an eyebrow at him. “I was a soldier once too, you know,” he remarks. “I can take an order.”

“Sure, but do you _like_ them?”

George shrugs. He’s smiling. “There’s one way to find out, now isn’t there?”

And – okay. Okay. They could do this.

Alex swallows. He glances back up at the door, but no – it’s still closed. No one from the party has found them yet. Or ever, hopefully.

He looks back down. George meets his eyes.

“Spread my legs,” Alex says, morbidly curious. George doesn’t even hesitate, hands rising from his knees to take hold of Alex’s thighs, pushing him apart.

He continues to stare at Alex steadily, waiting.

Alex finds it increasingly hard to think. “You, uh, you know what to do,” he tries.

George doesn’t take the bait. “Tell me,” he says.

Shit. Okay. Fuck.

Alex takes a deep breath, curling his hands around the edges of the table so he won’t do something stupid. It takes him far too long to get a wrangle on his words and even then all he can think to say is, “Touch me.”

George pushes forward. Alex isn’t sure when ‘touch me’ became code for, bury your face against Alex’s clothed cock, but that’s what he ends up with. George presses his face against Alex shamelessly, dragging his cheek against the stiffening cock within.

“Like this?” George asks, feigning innocence.

He turns his head before Alex can answer, finding the tip of Alex’s cock and mouthing at it through the dark material of Alex’s pants.

There’s a growing wetness in Alex’s briefs.

In his new, fancy suit.

“Uh, shit. No. Fuck.” He pushes against George’s shoulders, forcing him back. “My pants,” he breathes. “I need to take off my pants. Hercules will kill me if I ruin this suit.”

George’s eyes rake down Alex’s frame. “I thought you hated this suit,” he says. It’s clear he doesn’t agree.

Alex rolls his eyes. “Shut up. I love this suit. Now come on.”

He pushes back against George’s shoulders until he can hop off the table, yanking his pants down swiftly and unbuttoning his suit jacket. He thinks about taking them off completely, but he doesn’t dare risk it in case they need to make a swift getaway. Still, he climbs back onto the table, letting his pants pool around his ankles, pulling his suit out of the way the best he can.

George remains where he was for all this, settling back in between Alex’s legs when he returns. “Then I promise not to buy you another suit again,” he says.

Alex rolls his eyes. “Good.” He hooks his ankles around George’s back again. “Now, as you were.”

George spreads Alex’s legs again, Alex’s cock standing up proudly this time between them. Still George watches Alex’s face, rather than his cock, waiting for ques. It’s the hottest thing Alex has ever seen since . . . well, since whatever the last hottest thing George did with him.

“Touch me,” he says again, amending it this time. “Anything but my cock.”

And if he likes to get teased, so help him? George’s hands are startlingly big, rough in a way that always reminds Alex of the farm estate he keeps in Virginia. Their one of Alex’s favorite things about George.

Now George let’s his hands depart from holding Alex’s thighs, running those palms up Alex’s legs, nicely skirting his cock and circling around his hips.

George’s blunt fingernails dig into his skin on the way back down, George squeezing at the muscle when he moves back down Alex’s legs, going so far as to dig into the tight meat of his calves.

George doesn’t deal in little things or details. He uses his whole hand in his ministrations, every finger in contact at all times, the pressure going from hard to harder and not much else.

Alex loves it. It reminds him of how strong George is. How powerful. He shivers when those hands wrap around his belly, warm and rough and steady.

“My thighs,” Alex says. “On my thighs.”

George’s hands obediently return to Alex’s thighs, high this time though, thumbs rubbing circles into his flesh.

Alex nods his head eagerly. “Suck my cock, George. Please,” he can’t help but to add.

George glances back up at him. “How?”

“What?”

“How do you want it? Tell me.”

Alex shudders. He shakes his head, blinking rapidly. “Hard,” he decides, suddenly. “I want it – ”

He chokes off with a cry when George takes him in his mouth, sucking hard – and loudly – at the tip of Alex’s cock. It’s too much. It’s far too much at once. And George keeps going like he’s trying to pull all the blood out of Alex’s cock.

“Enough, enough,” Alex shudders, pushing at his shoulders. He nearly sobs when the pressure retreats, George meeting his eyes steadily. It emboldens him.

“The tip,” he decides. “Lick at my slit.”

George doesn’t smirk, but there’s a definite smugness in the tilt of his head. He doesn’t try to keep eye contact as he sets to work, just presses his flat tongue under the tip of Alex’s cock and licks a stripe from the bottom to the top. George curls it tongue around the tip, pressing it against the slit there. He teases the opening, gently, running the rough surface of his tongue of the delicate flesh. The bottom of Alex’s feet flicker numb. His toes curl inward, his back hunching over.

This goes on for several minutes. Alex can’t seem to close his eyes. Can’t seem to look away even as his cock leaks precome, George catching it on his lips and pulling it in with his tongue.

The sight shocks him. Oh, god. This is really real. This is really happening.

He has to touch something. His biggest regret is the fact that George has no hair. Instead, Alex has to settle for threading his fingers between George’s hands on his thighs, clasping him tightly.

George squeezes his hands back, glancing up long enough to smile.

“George.”

His voice comes out hushed. George hears him anyway, pulling back to look at him.

“Yes, Alex?” he says. The corners of his mouth as pulled up, the lines around his eyes crinkled.

“I’m sorry I ruined the party.”

George raises an eyebrow. “Does it look ruined to you?”

“You’re not my daddy,” Alex adds, blowing forward.

The second brow joins the first, rising high on George’s face. “Okay.”

“And I’m not dating you for your money.”

“I know.”

Alex nods. “Good,” he says, decisively. “Now will you please just _suck my cock?”_

George complies, bending forward to lick a stripe from root to tip. He circles back around, pulling Alex’s balls into his mouth, one after the other. He tugs down, the way Alex licks it, and it rewarded with a splash of precome on his face. He doesn’t seem to notice.

Probably, Alex holding his hands encumbers him, but Alex doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon. George manages just fine, besides, releasing his testicles with a few more hard pulls before kissing his way back to the tip of his cock.

He swallows him down without teasing. George doesn’t deep throat – that’s Alex’s business – but it’s no crime. George has this marvelous way of using his tongue and just the hint of _teeth._

Alex groans loudly as George begins sucking in earnest. He gives it rough – teeth scraping here, sucking loudly there. It’s like George is trying to give a hickey to his cock. The mere thought of George leaving a mark on his cock nearly makes him come right there.

George works back up to that brutal, terrible, wonderful pressure he began with. Cheeks hollowed and lips flushed. There’s beads of sweat growing on his brow that Alex wasn’t to lick off, that he would lick off, if George weren’t pinning his hands to his own thighs, holding him in a vice grip.

He wasn’t to buck and shift, but he can’t. Instead his head thrashes, flying backward the moment George takes an unexpected plunge – nearly sucking him down the edge of his throat.

He pulls back before he quite manages it, gagging loudly, and Alex wants to capture the sound and play it on repeat for the rest of his life.

George doesn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed. He pulls off for a moment, looking quite pleased with himself.

“What did they say about old dogs and new tricks?”

Alex snorts, the laughter almost hurting as it bounces around his arousal. He manages to roll his head back down, squinting open his eyes.

“I will literally be your hot piece of ass forever if you do that again,” Alex swears, dead serious. George’s face breaks into a grin.

“Like you aren’t already.”

He nips at Alex’s thigh, flicking his tongue out to brush against their entwined thumbs, before taking Alex’s cock back into his mouth.

Sadly, he doesn’t do it again, but he does turn his head, pressing Alex’s cock into his cheek until Alex can see the curve of it in George’s flesh.

Alex swears loudly. He goes to jerk back, but George holds him steady, pressing their hands firmly to his thighs.

Alex has no choice but to watch as George makes a show of fucking himself on Alex’s cock. The curve of his cock in Alex’s mouth like some lewd shadow puppet play. His other cheek still bares a smear of Alex’s precome, shining in the light.

It’s that, and the gagging noise still ringing in Alex’s ears, that finally clues him into George’s plan. To be as many humiliating acts as he can to _prove_ he’s not in it for the ego boost.

Alex’s silly, ridiculous, _loving_ giant of a man.

A warm settles over Alex’s shoulders, apart from the building shudders of his pleasure. The coals in his belly keep warmly in his chest. He’s flushed, glowing with the force of his realization. If a stupid dopey smile crept over his face he wouldn’t even be surprised.

His orgasm builds under this. He squeezes George’s fingers, mouth open and silent a the man sucks down his cock, hard, pressure squeezing the life out of him.

He scarcely has time to mumble out a warning before he’s coming. George doesn’t move, sucking him as his release hits, not letting up for a moment as Alex comes in his mouth.

The pressure twists from pleasure pain to a sharp pull of too much.

Alex doesn’t mind, almost humming in contentment. His hand is lacks in George’s grip, waiting patiently as George eeks out those last drops of pleasure from him, his body shuddering distantly, before at last pulling off.

Droll and come string from his lips to Alex’s cock, somehow miraculously missing his suit. There’s pressure on Alex’s thighs, weigh as George suddenly leverages himself up, and then his mouth is filled with the salty-sweet taste of his own come as George kisses him.

It’s nearly lazy. Lips moving softly against on another. An occasional tongue slipping between parted rows of teeth to tease the other. George’s lips are wet and full, swollen from his work. Alex captures his bottom lip, sucking out his thank you, mind still caught somewhere at the bottom of a well where George had left him.

They kiss for several long minutes. Long enough for the come to dry and start to flake on George’s mouth. He pulls back at last with a sigh, pulling out his pocket square and dabbing it away. He glances done at his suit absentmindedly.

“Oh good, we’ll be able to take a cab home,” he marks.

Because certainly – if one ignored George’s outrageously swollen lips and Alex’s distant fucked-out-of-his-mind-stare they might pass as a quarter respectable.

Alex carefully reaches out, tangling his hand in George’s tie and pulling it sharply.

“Actually, there’s one more thing I’d like to do here.”

 

*

 

Alex takes George’s hand and leads him through the press of the crowd, elbowing his way through the swaying masses quickly.

Drunken laughter competes against the band now, rising up in crests and falls all around them. Alex spots Angelica Schuyler as he tugs George into position and winks, her eyes flickering between the two of them swiftly, before breaking out into the widest grin.

He thinks with the gossip he’s just given her, she might just forgive him.

George’s palm slides low enough to draw looks on his spine, Alex resting his own hand on George’s broad shoulder. George takes his other hand, gently grasping his fingers.

Alex doesn’t hear the beat they start on, but he trust George to find the music. As asked, George leads them in a wide circle around the dance floor, letting Alex’s eyes slide out across the crowd.

He spots Charles Lee before the turn is over. The man is bent, mouth twisted into a smarmy grin as he talks to a woman Alex doesn’t know. It changes the moment he spots Alex, an affronted sneer blooming across his face.

Alex meets George’s eyes and grins. “Now.”

George spins him. A ridiculous sort of thing they done laughing over bottles of wine and cheesy movies at George’s place. It’s the sort of move that ends when George takes him by the waist and dips him, before pulling him up to _slide_ against his chest.

They end with a ridiculous kiss. Alex grabbing George by the tie and _dragging_ him down to his level.

They hold the pose for a moment, Alex just barely restraining from opening his eyes to peek, before letting it break.

Alex meets Lee’s eyes across the floor and grins.

“Okay. _Now_ I’m satisfied.”

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! You made it to the end! 
> 
> Super kudos to Kookookarli for putting this all together! I hope you liked the fic!
> 
> I'll be lurking down below if anyone wants to say hello.


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